


Latudax's Down Time in Phandalin I

by ovr4tee



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Elf, Gen, Religion, Tabaxi, Tymora - Freeform, phandalin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29970870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ovr4tee/pseuds/ovr4tee
Summary: After some minor adventures, Latudax, the Tabaxi Cleric of Nula, gets a good night's rest at the Stonehill Inn in Phandalin, and looks for a spot to get a spiritual recharge...
Relationships: Sister Garaele/Latudax





	Latudax's Down Time in Phandalin I

Lutadax awoke with the sun risen, but low in the sky - he figured it was mid-morning, at the latest - and the noise of birds and village life outside the window of his room, up on the Stonehill Inn's second floor. It felt good to get a full night's sleep in a proper bed, and without the need to sleep lightly, in case of attack.

He swung his legs out from under the covers, so he was now sat up on the edge of his bed and looked around the room. Ash had already arisen, made their bed - though he was unsure they had even used it - and left the room to go about their own business, so he was alone. He wondered if the other members of the party were up, yet. The last excursion had been especially taxing on Corax, physically, even if the Paladin did not let on. Even the appearance of a fellow Dragonborn, Gesh, had not sloughed away the slightly tired look upon his scaly features. Annis, too, had been through a physically demanding time, considering their transformations from human to bovine-humanoid and back. He'd be surprised if any of them were awake.

Rubbing his eyes, he yawned and stood up. He stretched away the sleep, curving his spine backwards before flopping forwards, bent at the hips, his arms and hands reaching down towards the floor. As a final stetch, he flexed his hands' distal phalanxes, his sharp claws popping out from their hidden recesses, almost touching the floor, letting out a _mrrrrow-aaaahhh_.

He stood back upright, retracted his claws and strode over to the wash basin and jug, on the table at the window. He opened the curtains fully, watching a moment as life in Phandalin went on. After a second or two he poured some cold water from the jug into the basin, to the point the basin was almost full and the jug almost empty. Letting his more primeval instincts take over, he bent down and lapped a few moments at the cool fresh water, feeling like a young kitten, drinking from the pools on the riverbank, back home. Suddenly he plunged his face fullinto the water, his snout causing his nose to toush the bottom of the basin, before thrashing his face back and forth, washing away the last vestiges of sleep. PLenty of the water splashed over the sides of the basin onto the floor, but he paid it no attention, instead pulling out his face, wiping the excess water from his eyes and twitching hid neck a few times to shake off the remainder. He opened the window, looked down into the street and seeing no-one in the immediate vicinity, emptied out the basin, onto the cobbles.

"Watch under!" he yelled as the water cascaded, like a small waterfall.

Closing the window, he tidied up the basin and jug, fixed his bed and got dressed in order to take breakfast before spending time at the shrine across the road.

*****

The small shrine to Tymora - known colloquially amongst the villagers as the Shrine of Luck - was the only religious spot in the community, as far as he knew. It was well kept and clean, thanks to the services of Sister Garaele, a young, zealous Elven Cleric. As usual, at this time of day, she was at the shrine, removing old offerings from the rectangular dimple in the top of the altar stone, and rearranging newer ones neatly at the back of the indentation. The copper coins went into the purse on her belt, whilst the other offering went into the small trug she held in the crook of her elbow. The quiet, gentle padding of Latudax's feet upon the cobbles, as he approached the shrine, did not elude her.

"Ah! Welcome! Welcome!", she said, turning to Latudax, holding out a typically sleek and delicate Elven hand, as she greeted him. "It is always good to have the company of a fellow clergyperson. My Name is Sister Garaele, follower of Tymora and Keeper of the Tablet of Tymora, or the Shrine of Luck, as the locals like to call it."

Garaele's voice was mostly light and cheery, but there was a hint of sneer, when she spoke the colloquial name, for the Tablet.

Latudax took her hand and shook it, lightly.

"Well met, fair, Garaele. I am Latudax, priest of Nula. It is an honor to be here. Is the Tablet the only consecrated place within the village?" he asked.

"Yes, it is. I'm afraid there are no other altars hereabouts. And certainly none to Nula," she replied, trying hard not to spit out the name of Latudax's patron deity, but he caught the disdain, nonetheless.

"I am sorry to hear that. My reason for wandering so far from my homeland is to learn about the religions and deities of Faerun, whilst also passing on The Word about my patron deity to those who wish to learn."

"Well... there are none here who wish to learn of Nula. Tymora is the most beloved, hereabouts. Maybe even here in Faerun," she responded, with typical Elvish haughtiness.

Latudax smiled. It was not the first time he had experienced first hand such elitism from an Elf. It was actually one of the first things he was warned about by Waleran Proudmead, his master's Halfling contact in Port Nyanzaru, his point of arrival in Faerun. And in the two dozen or so times he had been in the presence of Elves, it was a stereotype that he found was to be wel founded, though so far, Asha had been the exception to the rule.

"Yes, I am sure that The Lady Who Smiles is powerful, well respected and revered here, but I have found in my travels that neither she, nor any other deity, hold my beliefs against me, even when I use a spot consecrated for their worship to commune with Nula. As a Human Cleric name Eyrick, a follower of something called Wykka, once told me, 'It is all grist to the mill', which is a very interesting take on religion, I though, and fell in quite nicely with my mission of exploration and tolerance."

The Elf looked at him, thoughtful, yet disdainful, arms folded in subconcious defense. A Human villager, who had just arrived to make her daily offering of a copper piece, chuckled quietly, but audibly. As she turned she and Garaele's eyes met. The villager averted her gaze, scurrying from the area of the shrine. The Elf immediately turned her gaze to Latudax. The Tabaxi stood there, a soft look of expectation upon his face. Garaele's eyes narrowed momentarily, before huffing and waving at the altar.

"Fine... fine... be quick, though."

Latudax bowed deeply.

"Many thanks, gracious Sister. May Tymora's love fall upon you."

"Erm... yes. Thank you", the Sister replied, before turning on her heels and striding towards her house.

Latudax smiled to himself, as he knelt at the altar. Holding his amulet tightly, he took a deep, cleansing breath and closed his eyes.

"Oh, fair Nula, I call upon you from this distant land," he began his invocation.


End file.
